When I was pregnant with Henry, and fretting slightly about whether I could cope with being outnumbered by my children for big chunks of the day, a good friend of mine said, “The bad days are no worse. A bad day with two is just the same as a bad day with one. And the good days are fine!”

Yesterday was not a bad day, but it did have a bad few hours in the middle of it, in which Daisy and I drove each other to distraction for a while, and Henry woke up far too soon from his afternoon nap.

I indulged myself for a while, with worrying that I wasn’t cut out for the stay-at-home-Mum thing, that I wasn’t coping, and then a I remembered: there were days when I couldn’t cope with going to work, either. Maybe, some days, I can’t cope, full stop!

I got my act together, after that, and started playing with my daughter properly, and the day righted itself. But I think the lesson is important: just because I’m moaning doesn’t mean I’ve made bad decisions with my lifestyle; it just means that some days I can’t cope with anything!